Morning

Dawn before the forest awakens        
A witness to the birth of day          
The mist rising from the trees          
The moon asks the sun          
Where is the light?          
The sun enlightens her saying          
The light is not yet born          
The stars are only      
Now beginning to rest.          
In time the light will sift down          
Floating like a raven feather          
And flow as a hemlock needle          
In a lazy stream listing along          
Before feeling the force of gravity          
In the bounded space          
It will shoot through the flumes          
Between the  exposed rocks          
And over the ripples of the stones          
Beneath the water’s surface          
Riding the currents          
And swirling in the eddies          
The needle having become    
One with the water through    
Movement and manner.          
So the light will both bounce off of          
And surround all it touches          
This relationship with space determines          
The language of shadows, aesthetics,    
And forms a type of Spirituality.    
Thus, the light will become          
The things it has surrounded itself with          
This connection between light and day is         
So tightly woven by time          
That can only be dissolved          
By the darkness          
of night